Above Suspicion
by Little Bassoonist
Summary: A series of shorts covering all the characters and their victims in their last moments.
1. Anthony Marston

"The legal life's narrowing! I'm all for crime!"

Anthony Marston brought his third glass to his lips, downed it in one gulp, the first feelings of drunkenness growing in his brain. Laughing too loud, fizzing bubbles in his skull, a little piece of him separated from his body. The revisited memories of John and Lucy Combes bugged at him like an unscratched itch, but when he swallowed, the persisting guilt disappeared. His head felt light, and suddenly, he wasn't on Indian Island anymore, but instead outside of Cambridge, driving without a care in the world.

Air rushing past him, boyishly fluffy hair getting in his vision, the sensation of flying surrounding him completely. Blue eyes focused on the speedometer, the needle pushing 80 on the dirt road. He'd have to spend the entire evening cleaning off the reddish mud from his tires and bumper, and the bugs that were turning his windshield into a graveyard, but he didn't care. The work would be worth the play. His foot put more pressure on the gas, watching the red needle inch up to 90. 91, 92, 93. A flip of his head, and his hair moved out of the way, clearing his peripherals of any obstructions. 94, 95, 96. He blinked to get the dust out of his eyes, which was now billowing up wherever his tires went. 97, 98, 99. A quick intake of breath, waiting for that golden number.

100! 100 miles an hour, and Anthony felt as though he were a young god, able to rule the world. Well, maybe not the whole world, but at least the dirt road and surrounding forest. He floored the pedal, and the speedometer jumped to 120. _Now_ he was ruling the world. The trees blurred green and nothing could be heard above the roar of the motor combined with the wind's angry whistle. Occasionally, the sound of a bug flying by his ear was audible, but other than that, he was dead to the world outside his car.

A cloud of dust coughed behind him as he neared civilization. A stone cottage appeared to the left, gone in a millisecond. He recalled gray walls and a yellow roof, contrasting with the thinning trees and bright sky. Time seemed to slow as he neared another house, this time on the right. He caught sight of two figures, too small to be adults, running out of the building. Blond haired girl with rosy cheeks and deer eyes. Brunette boy with a similar complexion and lids clamped tight in fear. A shrill shriek, a bump under the vehicle, and the world returned to normal, detail once again lost in the rush of speed.

_Dammit,_ Tony thought. _I'll have to clean up that blood from my wheels now._

Reality dawned on him, and after blinking, he saw the faces of the other guests on Indian Island. Pain enveloped his mind, shutting down all other senses. The scene in front of him turned black, as though all the lights had been put out. A scream almost identical to that of little Lucy Combes was the last sound that entered his ears. His throat seemed to cave in on itself as all oxygen left him. He felt a dab of spittle foam at his mouth as the pressure built in his head and he collided with the floor, dead.


	2. John Combes

November 14th, a day like any other. Momma had just come back from the market and was making bread, just the way Johnny liked it. He had spent the day with his twin sister, Lucy, in the back of their property, jumping in leaf piles. There was something absolutely fascinating to the seven-year-old about how the green leaves on trees could turn into a plethora of colors annually. How they went from being soft and smooth in the wind to loud and crunchy under his boots. Across the road, he saw the evergreens, those strange plants that never turned the same pretty colors as the rest of the forest. The only time the pine trees changed colors was during Christmas when the family decorated one of them, and _that_ was over a month away. (Too long for Johnny's taste.)

One of the best trees on the Combes' residence was an oak with strong branches like arms, one of which was designated to hold up a swing for the children. The swing was nothing more than two ropes attached to a plank, but such a simple contraption provided endless entertainment. Using simple science, Johnny cleverly placed one of the leaf piles near the swing, calculating that if he jumped off at the peak height, the trajectory would land him in the pile. Or, as he put it, _jump off at the top and hope you make it!_ Being a kind brother, he volunteered Lucy to try it first, in case his "calculations" had been flawed.

"Look how high I am!" she called to her brother, watching the world around her rise and fall. He felt a flare of jealousy, starting to regret letting her go first.

"Jump now, Lucy!"

She launched herself out of the swing, flying in the air before falling into a flurry of leaves that fell around her like snow. She giggled, resurfacing with a broad smile. "I did it!"

"My turn," he proclaimed before she could get back on.

Though Johnny's round on the swing hadn't been nearly as graceful as Lucy's, it was still equally as fun. The soaring sensation of everything around him blurring past, the wind's angry whistle in his ears, the sound of a bug flying past, it all made him feel like the king of the world.

The twins ran inside at their mother's call, ready to eat the freshly made bread. Johnny devoured his slice quickly, and Lucy, not wanting to be outdone by her brother, at hers just as fast. The two ran outside again after their snack to the front yard for more leaves.

Time stood still. Clutching each other's hands on the edge of the road, a red car came speeding towards them. Johnny closed his eyes and Luc screamed, the last thing he heard before it all went blank and the Anthony Marston's car collided with his childish body.


	3. Lucy Combes

November 14th, a day like all the other days in fall. Lucy Combes thoroughly enjoyed all the aspects of it. Waking up to the sun, Momma braiding her hair with a silky blue ribbon woven in, the leaf piles, the fresh bread. An overall good start.

Like the morning. She had a pleasant dream that night about flying. She was a bird soaring over the world, ruler of everything. She woke up with the sun creeping through her window and over her face, a happy feeling of warmth. Snuggled tight under her blankets, she opened her eye to a beautiful day with swirling leaves the colors of the rainbow. (Except for blue, but the sky had that one covered.) A flurry of leaves pressed against her window , casting shadows on the floor.

"Good morning, Momma," she sang when she left her bedroom. "Will you braid my hair today?" Momma smiled and nodded as Lucy ran to fetch her hairbrush. Her mother's soft hands gently pulled the brush through her golden tresses before weaving the sections together into a French braid. The mother and daughter often bonded like this, both taking pleasure in the experience. Lucy loved to have her hair done up "pretty," as she put it, and Momma loved to make her daughter happy. If that meant spending half and hour braiding hair, then so be it.

After the bonding session, the two parted ways as Lucy ran outside to go play in the leaves with Johnny, her twin brother. He had already set up multiple piles to jump in, leaping in and sending them flying and raining back down again. She snuck up on him and landed in the pile he was approaching before he could go any further.

"Lucy!" he yelled. "Look what you did!"

"Come on, it's fun!"

Most of the afternoon was spent with the leaves, grouping them together in small mountains before crushing them in huge jumps. Johnny had come up with the ingenious idea to jump out of their wooden swing and into one of said mountains.

_How did I not think of that?_ she asked herself with a shrug and a smile.

Lucy got volunteered by her brother to try the idea first. She responded with zest, soaring higher than ever and launching into the leaves, cushioning her crash landing. Up, up, up. Seeing the world around her from a near viewpoint, similar to that of her flying dream. Down, down, down. Into the pile, and up again laughing.

They ate Momma's freshly baked bread, the crust crunching deliciously. To complete the day, Lucy and Johnny ran to the front to continue their play.

That's when November 14th became a nightmare. Lucy's scream could be heard by the neighbors as Anthony Marston's car came roaring closer, closer, too close! There was a lot of pain, more than she had ever felt. (And she had gotten sick, gotten spanked, had splinters pulled, and even broken an arm falling from the swing.) None of that mattered now. None of that pain could compare to being hit by a car. But it was soon over, and the world turned off.


	4. Ethel Rodgers

Ethel Rodgers held her head in a feeling... what feeling? Some form of pain, yes, but not just the usually headache pain. That was layered underneath everything else. The fear, (of being caught, of being next) the anger, (at herself for getting into this situation in the first place) the sorrow, (at the loss, at the recent death) and guilt. Guilt for keeping quiet, for going along with it, for being a murderess. That's what she was. A murderess.

_No, don't think like that. Just sleep this bad spell off. _

Murderess.

_Sleep. Now. _

Murder—

Just sleep, will you?

The sensible part of her mind climbed into the bed, pulled up the covers, and laid her head onto the pillow. She closed her eyes and found herself so exhausted; she could barely lift them back up to check for her husband. She turned on her side, looking for a comfortable position. Slowly drifting off to sleep, she found herself trapped in an inescapable nightmare.

Hurtling downwards, through a pit or a tunnel. Falling. Complete blackness.

She crash-landed in 1929, in Miss Brady's household. Raindrops fell like nails on the roof of the estate, pounding into it so loudly talking was impossible. Thomas had gone to "fetch the doctor" just a bit too late. It was only a matter of time before the old bat would be dead, and it would look just like an accident. After all Miss Brady had never been in good health, and the town knew how devoted the Rodgers couple was to her....

"Doctor?" Miss Brady wheezed. "Is there a doctor?"

"Oh, hush it."

"Ethel, _please_."

Mrs. Rodgers turned her back to her employer, trying to avoid the guilt rising in her chest. The elder woman couldn't live for too much longer, now, could she? She tossed her head over her shoulder, watching Miss Brady cough (a disgusting sound with her withered lungs) and let out a choked sigh. Her eyes began to glass over, the intelligence in them fading. In the one second their eyes stayed locked, both women knew what was going on. Mrs. Rodgers shuddered at the fire in her dying employer's glare, the hatred and rage and disappointment. She dropped her gaze, ashamed, and the elder woman closed her eyes for the last time.

Feeling as though she might vomit, she walked out of the room, ridding herself of the evil she had just done.

The dream (memory) ended, but her sleep did not. There was a chilling peace, a sort of eerie silence that swept over her. A quiet that couldn't block out the screams. A darkness that couldn't hide the skeletons in her closet. A numbness that couldn't release her from her pain. Her muscles relaxed, and Mrs. Ethel Rodgers drifted off to death.


End file.
